Hyperborea

Welcome to your Adventure Log!
A blog for your campaign

Every campaign gets an Adventure Log, a blog for your adventures!

While the wiki is great for organizing your campaign world, it’s not the best way to chronicle your adventures. For that purpose, you need a blog!

The Adventure Log will allow you to chronologically order the happenings of your campaign. It serves as the record of what has passed. After each gaming session, come to the Adventure Log and write up what happened. In time, it will grow into a great story!

Best of all, each Adventure Log post is also a wiki page! You can link back and forth with your wiki, characters, and so forth as you wish.

One final tip: Before you jump in and try to write up the entire history for your campaign, take a deep breath. Rather than spending days writing and getting exhausted, I would suggest writing a quick “Story So Far” with only a summary. Then, get back to gaming! Grow your Adventure Log over time, rather than all at once.

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Friends & Rotten Flesh

Call of Cthulhu Fantasy Campaign
Part 1
o A gorgon who worships the serpent god Yig came into psychic contact with the Elven bard Anastrianna; this through the latter’s dreams. The snake-haired fiend had been imprisoned in the Realm of Sleep after running fowl of a powerful sorcerer.
o The gorgon came to realize through her studies that she may take the body of another to incarnate and thus escape her imprisonment. She tormented Anastrianna with nightmares, weakened her, and used the Snare Dreamer and Bind Soul Spells in that order to trap and contain the Elf’s spirit in a beautifully ornamented bottle.
o Via some connection to the death goddess Sharahama or by some artifact connected thereto, the gorgon also controls a small band of undead servitors from the Dreamlands.
o On the material plane, a kindly old hermit calling himself “Hlnonvr of Blth” took Astara Moonglow and Anastrianna into his care; both girls were injured by some eldritch beast in the woods.
o Astara ventured into the surrounding forest to acquire Calendula, an herb of healing. Anastrianna sustained by far the greatest injuries from the two girls’ ordeal. Fortunately, she found it, but was startled to be attacked by animated skeletons, having eyes that burned with an unnatural mockery of life. It was in fact at around this time that the gorgon actually achieved her goal as stated above.
o Astara returned to the hermit’s rustic cottage as a dense, unholy-to-the-senses fog spread upon the surroundings. More of the vile and creeping came to take her life. They cut her down. The old man emerged from home. He spirited her to relative safety. Immediately, the terrors began to claw and rend the home’s only defenses: barred doors and bolted windows.
o Anastrianna’s eyes opened but not at her will but that of another.
o The bedroom where the bard lay having but a flimsy excuse of a door would have surely given quickly. Astara struggled to defend her friends new and old. She dashed forward with haste and slammed the door into a ghoul, shoved it back with her serpent quarterstaff, twirled it around to land it against its worm-eaten skull and kicked it down to finish bashing it to pulp. She endured the smell of its rotten corpus.
o Hlnonvr chanted a powerful tongue and called upon none other than the dreaded Azathoth, rushing into the fray. Spectacular was that flash-it cut the fog- and ‘twas followed by the crack of a fearsome thunder. Outright, the fried carcass of the ghoul dropped to earth.
o Hlnonvr remembered Anastrianna went into her room, this to see to her protection and this to catch her standing. He approached her. Caught off his guard, she plunged a dagger into his gut and slammed him in his head, bare fisted to send him thudding to the floor.
o The undead broke the house’s defenses. They oozed inward in mass.
o The gorgon’s incantation paralyzed Astara.
o Darkness…

Call of Cthulhu Fantasy Campaign
Part 2
Hyperborea has had her share of powerful sorcerers. They come, and then to be as the radiance of the stars with the coming of the dawn. These types often have a limited life-expectancy, indeed. What does this matter?
Those desiring the path of magic seek their arcana in spite of all goodly wisdom, aroused with an unearthly need to know and perhaps to be. Ask them yourself. They oft’ know not from what depth that foul pricking of consciousness emerges or from what nighted abyss of the self from which it issues forth.
Astara is an elfish woman, eldritch, clothed in mystery to all but those who venture to come close upon to her.
She is touched by the gods, perhaps, and that is the nicest of sentiment coming from few. “Never trust a wizard!” The elders say, at least the few that dare to say such for fear that the wind itself will somehow knowingly betray them and carry their words to its master.
Astara hails from a small village that ousted her moons ago. The followers of the elk goddess saw to this. Those hypocrites! More oft’ than not they know their neighbors’ wives better than the scriptures which they torture and persecute to protect.
She’ll go back home one day. She will have her way and watch them mourn.
o Astara, Anastrianna, and a kindly old benefactor attacked by the undead save for the bard whom was possessed; they found themselves in dire circumstances.
o To no longer feel one’s limbs or to have neither use of other self-locating faculties, nor that precious means of movement, or way of environmental evaluation must be madness! Anastrianna was trapped in no place. She was in no time to her but on the material plane the clock was no respecter of persons, and here Astara and a badly wounded and aged wizard were no better than the rest.
o Serpent motifs glared down from mammoth ceilings, held by columns protesting against their prodigious weight. It was most intimidating. Everyone knows the way the mind likes to wander at the most inopportune times, by its hateful will calling to one’s mental space all the pieces necessary to fashion its own Frankenstein’s monster, leaving you stranded upon a lonely island to face it without a way of escape. This is precisely the mental atmosphere in which these two found themselves.
o In olden days, before the bestial proto-humans wandered the boreal realms to be stricken down by the flowering of true humanity, they were the wise ones in earth’s bosom. The serpent men were scientifically knowing and masters of magic. They knew the words of the Old Ones. They hissed the foul speech, the dark speech. They divined its secrets and feasted upon the flesh of the inferior, furry Voorimus or whatever variant name one may wish to apply. It depends upon one’s scholarship.
o This Astara had forced upon her. Neither she nor her co-prisoner wanted to take it too far with what they deemed idle and foolish jabbering, for surely they were the nominated sacrifices. One had to kiss the hand that feeds him or her, and the gorgon’s enchantments had proved successful, after all. This was a time for action. Life depended of escape.
o Through rusted bars, the light of braziers caused grotesque shadows to bend and twist in orgiastic way across the stone walls. Was this a small dwelling? Was this a fortress, great and looming above some haunted and forgotten place? How could Astara and Hlnonvr know with even a touch of certainty? They were in some sort of position not wholly dissimilar to that of their friend in need of rescue.
o Footsteps approached…

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